


Tattoo Me

by WriterX



Series: Punk!locked Uni [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bets, Declarations Of Love, Falling In Love, Getting a Tattoo, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Piercings, Punk!lock, Self Confidence Issues, Sentimental, Tattoos, Tongue Piercings, Uni!lock, tattoo artist - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterX/pseuds/WriterX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearing the end of his years in University, John Watson makes the decision to get a tattoo - and he enlists the help of his boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes, in order to get it. During the procedure, John reflects on the process of his relationship with the tattoo artist; ever since he snagged a kiss from Sherlock on a bet for fifty quid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tattoo Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to my earlier work 'Fifty Quid' that I promised ever so long ago. Hope it's worth the wait! ~X

“Are you sure about this?” Sherlock asks yet again, raising a silver tinted eyebrow at John, concern glittering in his eyes. The blonde rolls his eyes in annoyance as he squirms in the leather chair, trying to get used to the cold feeling and wondering how it is that he ever wound up in his current position. “You're asking me again? Honestly Sherlock, I thought you hated repetition.”

The lanky teen snorts, shifting his hips and averting his eyes as his long fingers move to pick up the needle he has been sterilizing in the steam autoclave for the past half hour. “John Watson, I hate repetition in everything except you.” Dazzling jade eyes swirl up at John, and the blonde feels his breath catch at the soft way those eyes flicker over the features on his face.

“So, you understand everything I have told you, yes?” Sherlock asks, professional again as he adjusts the gloves covering his hands. "You’re not to go swimming for two weeks. You’ll have to take vitamins for the next couple weeks to keep your immune system functioning well so that a possible sickness doesn’t slow the healing. You’ve been vaccinated for Hepatitis B - ”

“Sherlock.” John licks his lower lip, interrupting the man in the middle of his worry inspired lecture.  He squirms again in the chair, his heart beating a little too fast for his taste, even as he tries to convince himself that he’s ready for this. “We've been over everything for the past three weeks. I understand everything. I’ve watched to make sure you’re using new and sterilized equipment. I understand the aftercare. You've made it all perfectly clear. Just tattoo me already."

Sherlock snorts again, but his eyes are still filled with worry as he turns them back on his boyfriend of over one year. "It's going to hurt." The words are quiet, and John can feel the depth of emotion spoken with those few words.

John nods, and he feels Sherlock’s chilly fingers slip into his own. “Keep your thoughts on me, and not the needle.” Sherlock murmurs into John’s ear, hot air blowing on his skin and sending a shiver down his back before the hum of the needle starts up and presses against his wrist.

_John remembered the first time he got to feel Sherlock's tongue ring in his mouth. It really wasn't that much longer after he had felt the lip ring. In fact, it had been about two minutes and thirty seven seconds (Sherlock told him the exact time later) after they'd snogged for the first time. The grateful bloke had pinned his rescuer to the ground after Dimmock and his crowd had fled from the scene of the crime – and snogged him until he was breathless._

_The tongue ring was... startling at first. Snogging is so warm and wet – throwing in a bit of startling cold metal into the mix was a bit of a shock for John's senses._

_He froze up when it happened – that ball of metal felt strange and foreign inside his mouth. Sherlock pulled back and he chuckled under his breath when he realized what it was that was bothering John. “If my tongue ring startled you now, you're in for a bit of a surprise later.”_

_With that hint of a promise, John claimed Sherlock's mouth with his again – not caring for appearances. He was on his back, in the middle of the Uni campus, with a pierced up genius straddling his waist and shoving his tongue into his mouth – and John couldn't give a damn._

_He slid his tongue inside of the quirky man’s mouth and licked Sherlock's tongue ring – and he instantly felt a shiver of anticipation at the thought of meeting metal elsewhere on Sherlock's body._

“Ah!” John mutters, gritting his teeth, fingers closing around Sherlock's so tightly that his fingers look white.

“Shhh, it's okay John.” Sherlock murmurs, words soft over the hum of the needle as black ink is stenciled into John's skin – marking his wrist forever. “You're okay. I've got you. I won't hurt you, I promise.” And his fingers squeeze John's again, comfort shooting up the blonde's arm and allowing him to relax for another moment.

_“Mike!” John called out, speeding up his pace to catch up to his friend as he strode down the halls. The bloke turned around, arms full of textbooks as he adjusted his glasses on the edge of his nose. “Watson? What do you need? I’ve got a class to get to soon.”_

_John closed the distance between the two of them, and pulled his phone from his pocket as he did so. “Look at this,” He begun as he turned on the device and flipped to the app dedicated to pictures. The blonde brought up the picture of him and Sherlock (lip locked as proof for the bet – Sherlock’s lipstick pressed into John’s cheek in the form of a kiss, and both of their eyes closed with goofy grins that tried to force their lips apart) and showed it to Mike._

_“Pay up.” He grinned and Mike groaned as he fished around in his pocket for the promised money. “I never thought you’d actually be able to get him to kiss you.” Mike remarked, shaking his head in disappointment of the lost wager as he handed over the profit._

_John blushed softly, pocketing the winnings. He had to give it to Sherlock later – the bloke had the notion that because he consented to kissing John, that the fifty quid should belong to him. The doctor-to-be had been too thrilled at the idea of kissing those lips again in order to disagree._

_"So, how was it?” Mike asked as he leaned a bit closer as the two started to walk, falling into step beside the other. “Did you feel his…his…” Mike trailed off and gestured vaguely to his lip._

_"Lip piercing?” John offered, finishing Mike’s sentence with a broad grin. “Tongue piercing too.” He giggled, feeling a lot like a little schoolgirl bragging about kissing the school bad boy. “It was fantastic. He’s a marvelous kisser.”_

_His friend raised an eyebrow and glanced John up and down. “I didn’t think he was really your type.” The man shrugged, willing to leave John to his sexual preferences, and he hoisted his books up further into his arms. “But hey, if you’re into that stuff.”_

_John laughed, still unable to get the giant grin off of his face. “Yeah, I’m seeing him again tonight. We’re going out for Thai.”_

_He blushed when he noticed Mike giving him a suggestive glance. “John Watson, you’re getting involved with Sherlock Holmes.” His tone was teasing, but it just made John grin brighter. “Yeah.” He agreed, nodding as he felt his heart skip a beat at the thought. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”_

“God, how on earth did you manage to get all your tattoos?” John asks Sherlock through gritted teeth, turning his face to leer at the other teen; even though his fingers refuse to let go of Sherlock's hand. It's probably not productive for Sherlock to be working with one hand – but George is out for the day, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Sherlock snorts, barely moving his head as he keeps his eyes trained on John's skin, not wanting to mess up his boyfriend's first tattoo. “Don't be such a baby John. I didn’t have you pegged for a whiner.”

The blonde chuckles – strained, but he does. “I'd pinch you if I didn't want you messing up.”

The younger man removes the needle for a moment and spares John a glance up. “I've seen you beat men into the ground for me – suffering injuries such as a broken noise, a black eye, and even two concussions. And yet you're afraid of a little needle? That's a bit sad John.”

John pouts at the raven-haired boy, teasing him with a tilt of his lips as his eyes flicker down to Sherlock’s lips, tracing them with an invisible touch. “Maybe I just need some positive reinforcement.”

Sherlock's fingers nimbly shut the needle off for a moment – ever so thankful that the shop is closed right now. “Git.” He rumbles softly, leaning close to John to press his lips against the blonde's.

_Sherlock showed John the design to his new tattoo four months after they kissed for the first time. He had been nervous the whole day about it – and for the younger male that was a lot. Even John had picked up on it, tilting his eyebrow at the genius throughout the day, pondering the rare squeak to his voice, or the shuffling of his feet, or the opening of his mouth to say something, and then never following through._

_It finally came out when the two of them were in John's dorm room that night, and Sherlock was lying down on the blonde's bed while said man struggled over textbook reading._

_“Will you critique my tattoo design for my back?”_

_John paused in his reading and turned around to look at the man lying on his bed. His eyes flashed over the lanky body, at the face that turned up to look at him when Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows. He looked over the piercings in his ears, the silver studs that lined his eyebrow, the (currently) green stud on his nose and the fancy gold loop that curled around his lower lip. Continuing on, his eyes slid further down Sherlock's torso, still wondering what mysteries lied underneath the shirt that Sherlock refused to take off for him. (The detective joked that he would blind John with how pale he was, but John knew that he was insecure about the doctor-to-be seeing the tattoos he had underneath the material.)_

_“Sherlock, I'd love to.” He finally said and raised his eyes to those flashy blue orbs. “You know I would.” The blonde paused, licked his lower lip as he turned his seat so that he was facing his boyfriend more directly. “Is that what you've been fretting about all day?” Disbelief showed in his voice as he asked the question, an incredulous smile spreading over his lips at the thought of Sherlock being nervous around him._

_The proud genius sniffed and dropped back down so he was lying down on John's bed once again. “Oh, forget it. I don't want to show you anyway.”_

_“No, no, no.” John started, pushed himself off of his chair and strode over to the bed. He crawled onto the duvet and over to Sherlock, and rested the palms of his hands on either side of Sherlock's face. He stared down into eyes averting themselves from John. “Come on Sherlock,” A small smile slid onto John’s face, trying to gently coax a more positive response from his allusive boyfriend. “You know I think your designs are brilliant.”_

_Sherlock huffed again, but his cheeks lit with a colour similar to today's shade of lipstick, and John laughed to himself. Oh, Sherlock was as sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty._

_“Fine. I'll show you.” The reluctant man muttered, and he pushed John off, throwing himself off the bed to fetch his satchel. Which only left John to wait on the bed and watch his arse as the bloke bent over and ruffled through the papers._

_“Here,” Sherlock muttered as he plucked the paper from it's depths within the mess of his schoolbag. Tossing his head with pride, Sherlock held it out to John; chin held prominent and eyes focused on the blonde – like a man determined to face criticism and then reject it with every ounce of sarcasm that belonged to Sherlock Holmes._

_John reached out and took the picture - his jaw nearly dropped in surprise. “Whoa... Sher...” He can't even get the full name out – just sat there and took in the whole design. If he had glanced up, he would have noticed Sherlock nervously wringing his hands, despite his previously confident pose. “Is it okay?”_

_“Sherlock…” John trailed off, eyes tracing out the whole design. What revealed itself on the paper to John is this: an otter, face stretched towards the top of the paper, nose lifted in curiosity as its body sways in a gentle loop around the paper. Parts of the otter's stomach were under water, which was shaded with pencil to an incredible degree of artistic talent (as was the actual otter itself). One of its paws held the chain of an old pocket watch, a golden chain that dangled over the water. The clock was open, but the glass itself was broken – the hands stuck at the time 13:12. On the otter's stomach (its free paw holding it in place) was an old pipe – like something a detective in an old movie would smoke. And then, on top of the otter's head, was an old deerstalker – it covered part of the otter's face, obscured one eye but left the other to gaze knowingly upon the viewer._

_John let out a low whistle to show his appreciation. “I had no idea you could draw like this.” He remarked quietly and looked up at the man – whose eyes were alight with worry. “Look at all that detail!” The blonde cried out as his eyes lingered over the paper again. All the detail was absolutely astonishing; the otter's fur, the tobacco stuffed into the pipe – the broken glass on the pocket watch for bloody sake! “Sherlock, this is incredible.”_

_Sherlock seemed to melt at the praise – he moved to sit down on the bed beside John and rested his chin on the blonde's shoulder, looked at the drawing with him. “I'm going to get it done on my back soon.” He started quietly. “It'll stretch from just above my arse to the nape of my neck.” John felt a chill shoot through his body when Sherlock pressed a soft kiss to skin that peeked out of John's shirt. “My first session is next week. George said he would tattoo it for a week’s worth of wages.”_

_John tilted his head at Sherlock, barely moving his face (he doesn't want to stop the feeling of those lips against his skin). “How many sessions is it going to take?” He asks, curiosity bubbling forth, as he already knew that Sherlock could deal without the money for a while – after all, he and John were practically glued at the hip nowadays, and John didn’t mind paying for dinner and the like._

_The younger bloke chuckled, and leant forward to capture John's lips with his own, pressing together warm lips and cool metal. “Quite a few.” He murmured upon leaning back, opened his eyes to shine brightly at John again – and his skin practically glowed with approval._

_John smiled at Sherlock and moved one hand to brush against Sherlock's thigh, squeezing gently. “Well, if you ever need a place to rest your back, you know my door is open for you.”_

_His boyfriend blushed and bit his lower lip, eyes darting between John and the drawing that the doctor-to-be held in his hands. “Ask me about the pocket watch.”_

_John raised an eyebrow and his eyes darted back to the picture before they returned to Sherlock's face – deciding to humour the freshman. “Alright, what does the pocket watch mean?”_

_Sherlock shimmied a little closer to John, and the blonde felt a warm rush shoot through his body as thin and bony fingers curled around his shorter, thicker ones. “When I was little, my brother gave me a pocket watch. Said I could use it to always find my way back to family if I ever needed it.” Sherlock snorted, shaking his head. “You know how well I get on with my family.”_

_John nodded understandingly, grimaced slightly as he squeezed Sherlock's fingers – he had met Sherlock’s older brother two months previous. Not a very encouraging experience. “Well, the watch I drew there is an exact duplicate of the watch my brother gave me. It was a family heirloom, you see. That's why it would lead me home to family.” He snorted again and shook his head. “But I don't want to be tied down to my family. Not anymore. Hence why the watch is broken.”_

_The blonde nodded and glanced back at the paper – god, Sherlock was so symbolic it was ridiculous. He would never be able to think of anything that creative for a tattoo. “What about the time? Is that purposeful too?”_

_He was pleased to see a smirk tweaking Sherlock's ruby red lips upward into a look that was quickly becoming John's favourite expression on the man's face. “13:12.” The tattooed man read the time quietly, and John felt Sherlock's fingers drumming restlessly against his fingers like he did when he was nervous. “December 13 th.” He switches it up, forming a date instead of a time, and his eyes darted up to John's. “The day I kissed you.”_

_John can't think for a moment. 13/12. The 13th of December. When John had pounded down Dimmock in defense of Sherlock Holmes – a boy who really was asking for a beating, and Sherlock claimed fifty quid by pressing his lips against John's and commencing their relationship._

_“Sherlock,” He started in protest, but Sherlock leant forward and cut his words off with a kiss. “No.” Sherlock said firmly after he pulled away, teeth drawing back John's lower lip for a moment. “I gave a lot of thought over what time to put on the watch John. I know what you're going to say – you're going to tell me that I shouldn't make my tattoo about you in case this whole affair ends badly and I regret the mark on my body. You're going to say that you're not worth it. That I should put the date of the first case I solved, or the day I was born, or the day I actually left all my family behind.” Dark curls bounced as Sherlock shook his head, looking seriously into John's eyes. “I want to put the day I kissed you – because no matter what happens in the rest of my life, it will be the day I finally found something worth keeping.”_

_Words failed John. But then again, both he and Sherlock had always been big advocates of actions speak louder than words – so when John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands and surged forward to press their lips into a powerful kiss, he knew that Sherlock understood every ounce of meaning behind the motion._

****

Sherlock’s lips part from John’s, and the blonde’s eyes flutter open in response – staring up at dazzling emerald eyes. He chuckles as Sherlock pulls back, rolling his eyes at his boyfriend. “You’re just stalling for time now.” The dark haired teen mutters, but John can see his cheeks turning a rosy colour.

John chuckles and flexes his fingers for a moment, eyes darting down to look at the beginning of the tattoo on his wrist. He takes in a deep breath, eyes following Sherlock’s delicately long fingers as he dips the tip of the needle into the black ink again. “Ready to start again?”

The baritone voice draws John’s eyes back to Sherlock’s face, flickering over the careful smile and bits of metal that shine under the florescent lights above them. He nods his head and leans back in the chair, closing his eyes in the process. Cool fingers slip back into his own, and John lets out a deep breath as the hum of the needle starts again.

 

_“Tell me what the rest means?” John asked quietly as his fingers drew careful loops over Sherlock’s covered chest where they lied on John’s bed. The doctor-to-be’s response to the meaning behind the clock had set them into a snogging session of nearly twenty minutes – and Sherlock had refused to let it go any further than that._

_John didn’t mind much. That Sherlock didn’t want to go very far sexually with him – well, his cock minded, but John didn’t. He believed that somewhere inside of Sherlock, the bloke was still unsure if John really wanted to be with him, or if this was still part of a bet – and as a result was testing John’s patience to endure lack of sexual encounters. He only wished he could let the artist know just how deeply John had fallen for him already._

_Sherlock took in a deep breath and shifted his position on the bed slightly. John’s head rested in the crook of the tattooed teen’s arm, and one of each of their legs were intertwined. “You really want to know?” His voice was relaxed, a bare murmur against John’s skin as the bloke pressed a lax kiss to John’s forehead._

_“Of course I do, you idiot.” John chuckled, a smile tugged at his lips as his fingers moved to poke the man beside him in the side. Sherlock flinched slightly at the touch, but soon he was chuckling along with John as he pulled the blonde closer against his body._

_“When I was little,” Sherlock started, very quietly – John had to all but hold his breath in order to hear the soft-spoken bloke. “I didn’t like being at home. Mycroft was rather strict, and Mummy and Father were always either fighting or not speaking to each other. So I would leave the house and just travel around by myself.” John’s fingers continued to trace a little pattern into Sherlock’s chest, brushing against the part of his collarbones where two open buttons of his shirt had revealed skin to him. He smiled at the skull peeking out of Sherlock’s green shirt._

_“Whenever Mycroft realized I was gone, he would hunt for me, and try to drag me back.” He chuckled softly, and John glanced up to see that his boyfriend was smiling softly at whatever memory he had floating about in that funny little head of his. “My brother used to call me an otter. A slippery little otter that he could never quite catch onto.” Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, and then allowed John to resettle into his arms._

_“Ever since then, I’ve just liked the idea of personifying myself as an otter. Difficult to catch beneath murky waters.” He chuckled again and turned his head towards John before he pressed the barest of touches to the tip of the blonde’s nose._

_“So you’re the otter in the tattoo?” John asked, smirking at the cute idea. He would never tell Sherlock it was cute – the pierced freshman would just roll his eyes and mutter under his breath about how he ‘is_ not _cute’._

_“Yes, John, I’m the otter.” Sherlock rolled his eyes nonetheless at the obvious query, but John smiled – happy to watch his boyfriend chat about something that he was passionate about._

_“So, what’s with the deerstalker and the pipe?”_

_John’s smile was nearly indefinable when he noticed the blush that appeared on Sherlock’s cheeks at the question he posed. He watched in fascination as Sherlock’s tongue flickered out of his mouth to toy at his lip piercing – and momentarily John wanted to do that same thing himself._

_“You ever seen those old detective movies?” Sherlock asked, tilting his head at John, his cheeks still flaming red. “I was watching one when I was finishing my sketch.”_

_John laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls of his small dorm room. Sherlock flushed and turned around, hiding from John in embarrassment. The lanky teen stole one of John’s pillows and covered his head with it – John thought he heard something along the lines of ‘don’t mock me’._

_“Oh, Sherlock, come on.” John smiled, his words filled with good cheer. His fingers tugged at the detective’s shoulder, pulling him over so that he’s lying on his back. He shifted himself, moving so that he was straddling Sherlock’s hips, and his fingers worked to move the pillow to behind his boyfriend’s head instead of in front of it._

_Sherlock’s face was revealed to him, and those red lips were formed into a pout as he looked up at John. The blonde smiled and bent over – and kissed the frown right off of those lips. “Sherlock,” He started as he leaned back, his hands on either side of Sherlock’s head as he looked down at him. “You are adorable.”_

_His boyfriend’s face scrunched up, disgusted by the term of endearment. “I am_ not.” _He insisted, and John chuckled before he leaned down to press their foreheads together. “I think your tattoo idea is brilliant, and you’re ridiculously clever for thinking of it. But you’re also adorable for being influenced by a movie.”_

_Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes, but the tattooed man’s hands were moving to twine into blonde hair. “You should have understood from my Gallifreyan tattoo that I can be easily influenced by movies.”_

_“That’s a TV show.” John whispered as he let Sherlock pull his lips closer down to dazzling ruby. His boyfriend laughed tranquilly, but otherwise let the matter go once their lips had closed around each other again._

John wriggles slightly and Sherlock raises the needle from his skin again. “John. You really have to stop moving, or I’m going to mess up!”

He winces slightly at the cross tone, and his eyes open to look up into Sherlock’s face. John gives him an apologetic smile and his boyfriend simply snorts before continuing placing his artwork along John’s wrist.

His skin stings where the needle is – but John refuses to look at it; keeping his eyes closed instead. He had learned that lesson a number of years ago when he had to gone to donate blood. One look at the needle sticking out of his arm, and he’d thrown up everywhere.

They do say that doctors make the worst patients.

_Sherlock would not let John see his new tattoo until it was completely healed. After the necessary amount of time had passed by, John had badgered the detective all day until the raven-haired boy finally consented to the viewing._

_“In your room though.” Sherlock muttered when he finally gave in to John's relentless pestering. “I don't want anyone else to see it.”_

_And so it was, that at seven o'clock that night, (when John’s dorm-mate had gone out for pizza with some mates) Sherlock knocked on John's door and slipped into his boyfriend's room. Instantly John could tell that Sherlock was nervous – but John didn't understand what the boy could be so nervous about. He had seen the design on paper and it was utterly brilliant._

_But that was the nice thing about Sherlock. Once you got to know him, and care about him, he cared about what you thought of him. Gone was the ‘I-could-care-less’ attitude, and he became a fidgety teenager with sweaty palms just like the rest of them. It was rather endearing. Or at least – John thought so. However, perhaps that was simply because John knew he was the only person that had the privilege of seeing Sherlock in that manner._

_“I'm ready if you are.” John told Sherlock from where he was lying down on his bed. He had been reading a book before Sherlock had arrived, and now he took his bookmark and slipped it into the pages of his book – plotline forgotten with the lanky, bejeweled teen in front of him._

_Sherlock nodded his head and pursed his lips together. He lifted his hands behind his back, grabbed at the fabric of the shirt and pulled it over his head in one swift move – a move that really did things to John's stomach. He swallowed hard, and his eyes were given a moment to flicker over Sherlock's build before the lanky teen turned around to show John his back._

_He didn’t say anything for a moment. Sherlock didn't have anything else on his back – the only other thing that might possibly interfere with the artwork was the quote Sherlock had tattooed on his side. But it didn't obstruct anything. (He wasn’t going to count the initials of Carl Powers on the back of his shoulder; the mark was too small to really do block anything.)_

_The otter on Sherlock’s back looked like it could have been a photograph superimposed onto the pale skin. His eyes noticed a few freckles on Sherlock's neck, right at the nape of his neck, and he smiled at the blemishes on his skin. His eyes flickered over the tattoo again, admiring the detail – George had done a fantastic job. Of course, Sherlock had given him plenty to work with._

_“It's brilliant Sherlock.” John finally ejaculated, and the younger boy turned around, picked his shirt up and moved to put it back on again. “Hold on,” John interrupted, pausing Sherlock's movements. Bright olive eyes flickered up to his, and John pushed his way off of his bed before he took a few careful steps over to his boyfriend. “I'd like a look at the rest of your tattoos.” He murmured quietly – and he knew Sherlock consented when the shirt dropped from his fingertips onto the floor._

_The blonde took another step closer and his fingers rose in the air. His darker fingers brushed against the pale skin of Sherlock's chest – contrasting and yet fitting together much better than he had originally thought. He smiled softly as his fingers brushed against the skull on Sherlock's chest, fingers making a loop around the white, grinning skull._

_He traced the red flowers the skull sat atop, his eyes focused completely on what he was doing. John noticed the air charged with a kind of electricity – a kind of tension that he knew well from previous experiences. For a moment he wondered if Sherlock felt it too – felt the space between their bodies as if it were an entire ocean and the breadth of a grass blade all at once. Would he care if John pressed their bodies together?_

_His fingers drifted downward, brushing against the silver ring on Sherlock's left nipple – and he heard a sharp intake of breath at the movement. Curious, John tugged at the cold metal, and he heard another deep breath fall from Sherlock's lips. Licking his lower lip, John’s fingers hovered over skin to Sherlock's right nipple – where he gently tugged at his nipple ring there. In front of him, Sherlock groaned quietly, and John smiled when he realized the promising kind of reaction that Sherlock was having._

_His fingers traced the metal again, and John wondered how much it hurt to get that type of piercing done – and he wondered if the detective was glad that he got them down._

_Continuing on, his fingers drifted down Sherlock's side, brushed along the quote on his side._ 'Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' _It really did suit Sherlock. John had seen the bloke apply the very same method to many a different problem – once, Sherlock even took John to a crime scene as a date in order to explain his methods of deduction._

_Once upon a time, John never would have thought that was romantic._

_John’s fingers travelled to Sherlock's navel – where the bloke had a brilliant golden stud right smack in the middle of his belly button. His fingers circled the little brilliant nub before they brushed against the tattoo beside his belly button, the one that dipped down under his trousers and onto his covered hip – one of a red Chinese Dragon._

_“You've never told me about this one before.” John murmured quietly as his fingers brushed along the dragon’s detailed scales, and his eyes lingered over the way that the dragon's gaze seems to watch the detective-to-be. In front of him, Sherlock chuckled, a smile on his face. “Believe it or not, but the answer to that one is actually rather simple.”_

_“Oh?” John asked, lips tilting to a smile as his eyes flickered up to his boyfriend’s eyes, and his fingers brushed along the hem of the tattooed bloke's trousers. “Mhm.” Sherlock nodded his head, paused for a moment at the attention of fingers right there._

_They had a talk about sex a month or so ago - mostly because Sherlock had caught John masturbating late one night (granted, John thought he was alone in his dorm; it had been a quarter to midnight and Sherlock had slipped into his room because he was bored – only to find John masturbating). Sherlock wasn't a virgin, but his first time had been a quick two minute session in the back of a car – one where the guy he'd been with had essentially just stuck his dick in, bounced around and came, and then left with Sherlock feeling totally humiliated and without climax._

_Following that conversation, John had given Sherlock the best blowjob of his life (and made it last nearly forty-five minutes long). Since then, the lanky bloke had been down with frequent handjobs and blowjobs between the two of them, but he was still nervous to take that final step._

_“Shortly before I started coming to this University, Mummy insisted that the family take a vacation to another part of the world.” He licked his lower lip and looked down at John. It flattered the blonde greatly that he could tell that Sherlock’s attention wasn't focused on the story, and more on John’s fingers and how they brushed against the skin hidden by his trouser waistband. “Mycroft asked to go to China – and of course, that's where we went because Mummy adores him.”_

_He snorted and John smiled softly, stepping closer and bending his head over so that he could softly kiss at the hollow of Sherlock's neck, kissing skin beside his skull tattoo. Sherlock's breathing faltered for a moment, but continued with his heart pounding heavily beneath John's lips. A smirk tempted to tweak his lips into an upward position and he traced his lips towards the skull, kissing around the design before he kissed each and every one of the petals beneath the skull._

_“Ah..” Sherlock's mouth opened, and John would admit before a court that he was purposefully making it difficult for the bloke to talk. Which, quite frankly, didn't make much sense – as the tattooed lad had such an incredibly sexy voice (one he could listen to for hours; Sherlock could repeatedly read the ingredients on the back of a cereal box, and he would love every minute of it). However – John had a small guilty pleasure of enjoying the way Sherlock's lips would pop open, and his brow would crease when he was trying to speak, but his mind was being distracted. One of John's favourite things to do, was when Sherlock received a phone call, John would sneak up behind him, and would nibble on Sherlock's earlobe, teasing the silver studs in his skin with his tongue – and watch Sherlock get utterly flustered while trying to talk._

_John's tongue slipped out of his mouth and he licked at the skull's forehead, fingers sliding around Sherlock's waistband in order to brush against the supple curve of his arse – touching at cold skin and inching his body closer to the detective-to-be. The younger man swallowed hard and shook himself slightly, trying to refocus himself on his story. “We... we were there for several nights, and one night, Mummy and Father had a huge fight. Mycroft and I left to leave them alone, and somehow I got separated from my brother.”_

_“You mean you purposely ditched him.” John supplied, bending his knees slightly so that his mouth was level with Sherlock's nipples and his tongue could lap at the silver ring pierced through his left nipple. He nearly grinned when he got a groan of appreciation from his boyfriend, and his fingers slid under Sherlock's trousers to grip his arse, kneading it with his fingers and enjoying the give of his skin. “Ye-yes.” The answer came a bit breathlessly, and John wondered how far he could take this before Sherlock's legs started to quake._

_For a moment, there was no sound in the dorm room, other than Sherlock's heavy breathing and the sound of John's tongue lapping against skin. He traveled over to the other nipple, applying equal treatment – because John was never one for things to be unfair. A shiver of a thrill shoots straight down to his groin when long, cool fingers slipped into John's hair and tugged him closer._

_“Well?” John started, popped his lips off of Sherlock's right nipple after suckling it for a while, the metal ring sliding out of his mouth. It leaves a funny taste in John's mouth (mix of skin and metal isn't something he's very commonly put in his mouth – well, more lately) but he didn’t mind so much. Especially when Sherlock's eyes looked down at him with a sort of dazed look that he never saw otherwise. “What about the tattoo?”_

_Sherlock snorted and his fingers affectionately brushed against John's scalp. “I was bored, and was already working on my tattooing license, so I thought that I would try to check out the local scene.” Once the lanky teen had continued talking, John resumed his work on Sherlock's skin – worshiping every inch of skin and art with his lips and his tongue. His fingers left the supple arse and traced along those pale arms, brushing against Circular Gallifreyan and the words_ ‘Last One Standing’. _He kissed down the middle of Sherlock's body, before he kissed at his navel and licked the stud that resided there._

_“I-I had a few drinks by that time,” He started up again, and John could hear his voice catch when his tongue licked at the pubic hair that was peeking out of his trousers. “And the tattooing bar that I stumbled into wasn't up to the same standards as George's – but luckily for me, there was a very talented tattoo artist there.”_

_John's lips travelled around to Sherlock's side, kissing at the quote tattooed into his skin as Sherlock continued his story. “Apparently I asked for something native to be put onto my skin – and I woke up that morning with that dragon on my hipbone and a pounding headache.”_

_The blonde chuckled, lips traveling back to said dragon and his tongue traced the swirling curve of the great red beast. By this time, John was on his knees before his boyfriend – and so when he looked up into magnificent viridescent eyes, both of them realized what a tantalizing position they were in. And yet... the worship of Sherlock's body had made both of their skins tingle, and they could tell that there was something else bubbling under the surface that was dying to be set free._

 

“I'm halfway done John.” The gentle baritone voice cuts through the hum of the needle, and the blonde peels one eyelid open to look over at his boyfriend. Slowly, both eyes open, and he can watch Sherlock in his element.

The tattooed teen is bent over, the needle grasped firmly in his hand and his fingers gently holding John's arm in place. His eyes are stuck upon the design, and his tongue sticks out of his lip in concentration – something John doesn't think he's ever seen the detective do before. He nearly giggles, but he doesn't want to upset the bloke by moving his arm and messing him up. Then it would be John paying for the rest of his life for a single giggle.

That would be quite a story. Oh hey, that's a nice looking tattoo...wait, what's this scribble of ink right there? Oh that? It's because I laughed at the face my boyfriend was making when I was getting it tattooed.

Beyond embarrassing.

“Thank you.” John whispers quietly, fingers squeezing Sherlock's hand. Jade eyes flicker up to blue, and a soft smile appears on Cupid’s bow lips – and the whole idea of getting a tattoo is worth it in that one moment.

 

 _Sherlock hadn't refused when John had pulled down his trousers and his pants – taking the angular teen's cock into his mouth just after. Honestly, John had never been much of a blowjob bloke when he had experimented with other men – but he_ loved _giving Sherlock blowjobs. Maybe it was because of the noises Sherlock made (who was a very vocal sexual partner John found out – a fact which had nearly got them caught by John's roommate on more than one evening) or because of the expression on his face, or maybe it was because of the fact that Sherlock's cock is the only cock John has ever sucked with a piercing._

_That first time John gave Sherlock a blowjob, he hadn't even questioned the piercing - his main focus being to pleasure Sherlock as long and as well as possible to make up for his poor first sexual encounter. But after Sherlock had been spent and the two of them had been lying in John's bed for a while, then John's curiosity overcame him and he asked about the piercing._

_The genital piercing Sherlock had was called a dydoe. It passed through the ridge of the glans on the head of his penis. The jewelry that he had in there was called a curved barbell, and it had taken five and a half months for it to heal – luckily Sherlock didn't have any sort of allergic reaction to the piercing, or any sort of infection. According to the tattooed bloke, it wasn't very painful to get, but it was sore for a number of weeks afterwards._

_John had asked why he would get this type of genital piercing – and Sherlock had smirked cleverly at John before he bent over to whisper in his ear, "Because it's supposed to add pleasure during sex." He had licked John’s earlobe, and whispered the last phrase huskily. “Especially against the prostate.”_

_And boy is John eager to see if that was true._

_But after a moment or two of John sucking Sherlock's cock, the gangly teen tugged John to his feet and brought him close to kiss him hard before he pushed him back against John's bed. Hastily, John crawled back onto his bed, leading Sherlock foreword with him as their lips pressed tightly against each other, attacking fiercely. Tongues slid together, and John shivered as that tongue piercing of Sherlock's flicked against John's tongue – to which he sucked on the piercing of Sherlock's lip as revenge for the delightful sensation._

_Apparently, Sherlock started to find John's shirt to be rather annoying and hindering, and he tore their lips apart for a moment to tear the blue jumper off of his toned body, revealing tanned skin beneath – unmarked and unscarred. For a moment, John felt more naked than Sherlock – simply because of the lack of artwork upon his skin in comparison with the dark haired teen. The feeling vanished the next second when John felt a shiver shoot through his body when the bloke on top of him got a gleam in his eyes and leaned down to suckle on John's nipples – resulting in the boy arching his back, eyes falling shut as moans slipped from his mouth. Especially when Sherlock's cock was pressing against John's thigh, and there was much too much clothing blocking their skin._

_“Sher-Sherlock,” John moaned quietly, and his fingers finally managed to push his boyfriend off of him when he felt cool fingers reaching for the buttons of his trousers. The detective pulled up to a halt, a frown fixed onto his face as he stared at the blonde in front of him – the look on his face nearly insulted at the idea of having to stop the pleasurable motions they've been going through._

_“Sherlock,” John sighed softly and leaned forward before he pressed their lips together in a soft and sweet kiss, gently melting their lips from two separate entities and into one. “Do you...?” He trailed off as he pulled off of Sherlock, his eyes flickering over the tattooed lad's face; lingering over the eyebrow piercings, the stud in his nose and the ring upon his lips. “Do you want to make love?”_

_In front of him, Sherlock's pale face turned a violent shade of red, and he ducked his eyes, his gaze turned to linger on John's stomach. His fingers traced a lazy doodle on John's skin – a strange mix of hot and sweet to both of their raging hard cocks lying so close together. “It sounds so awkward when you say it like that.” He murmured, blushing up to the tips of his ears._

_“Hey,” John said quietly, fingers moving to tilt Sherlock's head up, forcing their eyes to meet each other. He leaned closer to the bloke and pressed their foreheads together. “With me, you're not going to be just another shag, and I don't want to just fuck you.” The fingers of his free hand slid over to Sherlock's hand, twisting their fingers together. “I want to make love to you – because you mean the world to me, and I want you to know that with every fiber of your being.”_

_Sherlock just stared at John for a moment – and then his entire face melted. His fingers curled back around John's, and he leaned forward to press their lips together into the softest kiss that the two of them had ever shared._

_"I'll take that as a yes?" John whispered quietly against Sherlock's lips when they finally separated for air, and Sherlock growled his answer of approval before he attacked those lips again, his teeth scraping hungrily against John's soft skin. The blonde groaned, fingers moving to grip at Sherlock's back, fingernails scraping against the tattoo he knew was there and yet couldn’t feel. He felt hands sliding down his body, leaving a fiery trial in their wake before they tugged at trousers, eager for them to be removed._

_John shifted his hips, dug the heels of his feet into the mattress in order to lift his waist up – made it easier for Sherlock to unzip his trousers and yank the material down and off of his legs. He felt the tattooed teen run his fingers up his leg – long, cold fingers that traced the hair matted against his leg and up to the ridge of his pants; tickled John’s sensations and made him buck his hips in pure desire._

_Teasing, lips left his own and John's tongue flicked out to taste cold metal before darkened eyes gazed down on him in a lustful fever. John let out a deep breath, and his chest heaved as Sherlock pressed a soft kiss to the middle of his chest, before pressing another lower, and another lower, and lower, and lower... until that shining tongue piercing flicked against the hem of John's pants – and the young man started to feel like he was going to burst out of his pants if Sherlock didn’t remove them soon._

_With a devil-may-care grin stretched across his face, Sherlock's teeth took hold of the edge of John's pants – and the blonde had to clutch his bed sheets with his fists in order to contain himself as that head of black curls twisted back and forth as his boyfriend pulled his pants off with his teeth._

_Finally,_ finally _, John was naked. But before John could make the decision to meld their bodies together, or touch his boyfriend in any way – the fiendish lad had his long fingers curled around John's hard length, forced John's head back against his pillow as his lips let out a moan._

_“You like that?” Sherlock whispered, and the way his baritone voice turned so airy and seductive ought to be a crime. “My fingers wrapped around your cock?” There was an added pressure of fingers just under his head, and John nearly cried out, a bit embarrassed that he was this worked up, this fast._

_“You know,” John panted, and tilted his head up to look at the clever grin. “You're awfully good at this for a bloke with near to no experience.”_

_Sherlock simply grinned, taking the comment in a positive way. “I'm a fast learner.” He smirked, and his head dropped – and that damned tongue piercing flicked over the tip of John's cock, sending a spasm through his body._

_“Sherlock,” John moaned; and not too quietly either. “Either you stop teasing me and get down to it, or you're going to have to wait another thirty minutes.”_

_“I'm patient.” Came the teasing remark, and then those lips were wrapped around his cock, lip-piercing cold against his shaft and tongue piercing flicked against his flesh as those Cupid's lips slid up and down his length. John moaned loudly, Sherlock's name a half-whispered prayer that fell from his lips. His fingers slid down his body and curled into Sherlock's hair – holding, needing the focus to try to hold on for just a little longer._

_Of course, when one had the undivided attention of Sherlock Holmes, it was hard to stay sane for long._

_Always the quick study, Sherlock once again found John's weak spots, licked and sucked at them just like he knew will cause the blonde to have the desired reaction. Within five minutes of that heaven of cold metal and warm mouth, John came, his hips bucked into Sherlock's mouth, fingers tightening in his hair and the detective's name fell from his lips in a hoarse cry._

_When he was spent, and Sherlock crawled up on him to give him a kiss, letting the blonde taste himself on those ruby lips – lips that, quite frankly, didn’t have nearly as much red on them as John's cock did now._

_John smiled into the kiss; fingers gently cradling Sherlock's head as he took a long look at him. He wanted to say it – wanted to say those words that would let Sherlock know that this thing was for real. His tongue flicked out of his mouth, licked his lower lip, and his mouth opened to speak –_

_"Hey!" A voice from beyond their wall shouted out and a fist pounded against the wall to make a loud racket. “Keep it down in there! Some of us are actually trying to study!”_

_John and Sherlock connected eyes and simultaneously burst out into a fit of laughter._

“Are you done yet?” John murmurs, taking in another deep breath and glancing over at his boyfriend, his whole arm starting to get the tingling sensation he usually gets in his feet when they fall asleep.

“Aren't you impatient?” Sherlock huffs – but his mouth is the only thing with the retort, his whole body still carefully posed and absorbed in his work. Even though John doesn't know any other tattoo artists (other than Sherlock and George) he wouldn't have gotten his done by anyone other than Sherlock. He knows much too well how well that mind can work when it's completely and entirely focused on one thing, and one thing only.

He lets out a rough sigh, eyes slipping shut again. A smile slips onto his face when he feels cool fingers squeezing his own in reassurance.

 

_Thirty-four minutes was spent lounging about in John's bed, their arms wrapped around each other as they reveled in each other's company, not needing words in order to have a good time. Just light touches on skin; the barest brush of lips, and lingering smiles kept them company as John regained his energy. Sherlock hadn't wanted John to finish him off either – and probably for good reason. It was very rare when John could manage to get Sherlock to stick around for a second session once he was spent for the first time. However, it wasn't because Sherlock didn't want to go for it a second time with John, it was simply that his mind would flit off to something else once the urge was removed._

_“You've got stuff?” Sherlock whispered softly, head against John's pillow as he felt the blonde’s cock start to harden against his thigh. On his chest, John's head nodded slightly, and fingers traced on the dragon tattoo as if two field mice were ice-skating on the artful surface. “Bedside table, top drawer.”_

_The tattooed man leaned back, managed to keep John safe in their embrace as he opened up the drawer and took out a condom and a bottle of lube. He did raise an eyebrow at John, lips twisted into a smirk as his fingers worked at his own trousers, pulled them down and off his body – discarded somewhere irrelevant on the floor. “You just happened to have a couple condoms in your drawer?”_

_Furiously, John blushed, and looked guilty up at Sherlock, but there was still a grin stretched across his face. “Can't a bloke have any hope?”_

_The tattooed boy snorted and leaned down, pressed their lips in a soft kiss before he pressed their bodies flush against each other and John reveled in the fact that the two of them were naked together on the bed._

_“Okay, how do you want to do this?” John asked, partly sitting up by pushing his torso up with his elbows, forcing Sherlock up in the same motion. His gaze traveled down the full expanse of Sherlock’s body – a bit distracted from their task by the gorgeous piece of artwork sitting right in front of him. Skull and flowers on his chest, piercings in each nipple, quote on his torso, belly button piercing, dragon swirled around his hip, piercing on the head of his cock... John felt his mouth watering and he didn’t realize that Sherlock was speaking until he picked his eyes up to that gorgeous mouth of his._

_“Sorry, what were you saying?” John murmured, and blushed guiltily again as the lanky bloke smirked with that ever-knowing gaze of his. “I'll lead.” He filled John in as he leaned down to press their lips together in a soft, but firm kiss._

_John nodded his head when Sherlock pulled back – it made sense. It wasn’t Sherlock's first time, but it might as well have been, and John wanted him to enjoy it. Best way for that outcome to happen was for the pierced bloke to be in control of everything. So the blonde got to watch in fascination as Sherlock's teeth ripped open the condom wrapper and a hand once again curled around his cock._

_But his boyfriend was doing something with his mouth, so John forced his eyes open, even though the cool hand on him made him want to close his eyes and savour the feeling. Sherlock winked at John, and he nearly giggled, before he saw Sherlock take the condom into his mouth. Before he could question it though, that head of curly hair was bending over his cock, and that mouth was around him – and Cupid lips pulled off to reveal the condom wrapped around his entire length._

_John's mouth popped open, and he knew that he was fueling Sherlock's self-confidence at his astonishment. “How –?” He started, unable to really finish his sentence when he was been so turned on by that one move._

_“Practiced on a banana for two weeks.” The tattooed man admitted, the tips of his ears reddened slightly, and John simply pulled him down for a fierce kiss._

_With their mouths slick around each other, and John's attention occupied with metal piercings – he didn’t really notice what Sherlock was doing until there was a deep moan into his mouth, and his ears picked up the wet sound of fingers sliding against skin. He pulled their lips apart, his eyes darting down to see what Sherlock was doing – and his cock twitched at what he saw._

_Sherlock had been kneeling slightly as he kissed John – one knee against the bed, and his other leg strewn across John's legs so that his legs were spread out wide. One hand was against the bed to keep himself steady, and the other hand had opened the bottle of lube, coated his fingers, and was slowly sliding in and out of Sherlock's arse as the block prepared himself. John moaned at the sight, and Sherlock silenced him with lips against his own._

_Funny enough, it was Sherlock who had the concern for the people next door who were trying to study. Although John had a feeling that would change very quickly once he started getting fucked. Because that's what was going to happen. He allowed himself to be kissed into submission, only using his limbs to feel the actions they were committed; as his eyes were sealed shut – locked together in the same way that their lips were._

_He felt as Sherlock shifted over John so that their hips were closer together. There was a hand gripping his cock, holding his latex covered length straight into the air before the head was brushing against wet skin. His breath hitched as he felt Sherlock grinding himself down onto John's length._

_And oh, god. It's so hot, so tight – so much more so than any woman's vagina, and Sherlock was completely around him, squeezing him in such a way that his fingers were digging into Sherlock's thighs in order to control himself._

_He's not alone either. Sherlock's breath was coming fast and hard, and the blonde opened his eyes to see that tattooed chest heaving for air._

_But what a sight he was treated to when his eyes opened. Sherlock's head was thrown back, lips opened in a moan as those sparkling eyes were closed from the world – pure pleasure softening the expressions on his face. His eyes drifted down, focused on the area where his cock was sliding inside of Sherlock, and the dark haired boy's long cock jutted out from his pelvis and rested gently against John's own skin._

_He took in a deep breath, and his blue eyes connected with those brilliant sea green eyes. With a slight nod of his head, he signaled that it was okay for Sherlock to move – and honestly, they were both probably dying for the friction. Sherlock's tongue flickered out of his lips to tug at his lip ring, and the move still sent shivers up John's back._

_And then, John was a bit surprised when Sherlock bent down. He watched as those long, bony fingers took his own sturdy hands off of white thighs, and interlocked their fingers before holding both of their intertwined hands above John's head. With his heart pounding in his throat, John tipped his head back to meet Sherlock's lips as the tattooed bloke simultaneously shifted his hips against John's._

_It was hardly the marathon John wanted – but being their first time together, it didn't seem to matter. All that mattered were those sweet lips kissing him, again and again, and those fingers that tightly held onto his own – promising in that one moment that they would be together and everything would be fine. Their hips shifted together, Sherlock sliding himself up and down John's cock before John finally forced one hand away from Sherlock's so that he can take that long cock in his fingers and tug his boyfriend to orgasm after his own._

_Their moans filled the room and the kid next door pounded on their wall again, demanding that they shut up or he'd get someone else to force them apart – but none of it mattered when Sherlock smiled a dopey, orgasmic spent smile at John and curled their limbs together. Dirty, covered in sweat and cum, as Sherlock curled onto John's chest, all white skin and bright tattoos, John couldn't think of another moment in his life where he'd ever felt more at peace._

 

"Yet?" He asks quietly, getting a bit tired of this whole thing. It feels like they've been going for near five hours, but once glance at the clock on the wall tells him that he's dead wrong. It feels much longer than it really has been. Sherlock chuckles quietly beside him, a lingering smile on his face the only answer John gets.

"Ack!" John cries out suddenly, fingers clenching, eyes squeezing in pain as the needle touches a certain part of his skin – and John knows that the needle is going past the bone in his wrist. He doesn't have to open his eyes to know that Sherlock is looking at his with concerned eyes – and the doctor-to-be tries to school his features so as not to worry his boyfriend.

But Sherlock Holmes sees through every mask.

Fingers squeeze tightly onto his own, and John clings to them like the unspoken promise hovering in their air between them.

 

_“John, you’ve got mail.”_

_John lifted his head from where he had been reading in his dorm, his legs stretched out over Sherlock's as the dark haired boy laid strewn out on the chair opposite him, absorbed in his own reading. He smiled at the soft-spoken kid that approached him – a mousy haired freshman named Sebastian that lived at the end of the hallway, who John had only spoken to once or twice._

_“Thanks Sebastian.” John said, smiled softly at the kid as he took the envelope from his fingertips, too shy to use the boy's nickname, Seb, with their distant relationship. The boy walked off to give mail to some of the other people in the dorm, but John's fingers had frozen on the envelope once his eyes had brushed over the words._

_After a moment or two, Sherlock seemed to realize that John's breathing pattern had changed, and the book dropped from long fingers, curious eyes peered up at the blonde. “Who's the letter from?” He asked quietly – but one glance at his boyfriend told him that the tattooed bloke had already figured that out for himself._

_John swallowed hard. “From the army.” He replied quietly – his last year of Uni now, and he had sent in his application ages ago; nearly thought it got lost in the mail. The blonde took in a deep breath – he had been aiming for the army for the past three and a half years (for what Sherlock had correctly announced long ago in that tattoo shop – a fuck you to the old man), but it's what he wanted to do: help people in a dangerous situation. People he knew he could help._

_And yet..._

_He glanced over at jade eyes peering over at him, his face expressionless. His eyes flickered over the lanky teen, watched, tried to figure out what kind of information his boyfriend was hoping was within the envelope._

_They've talked about it. Of course they've talked about it. Sherlock had always been adamant that John did what he wanted to do – because what was the point of anything if you were just following rules that other people made up for you? (And yet again, John had been struck by the idea that if Sherlock hadn't been so keen on catching criminals, he would have made a fine one himself)_

_But after all this time... it had been over a year with the two of them together – the end of John's senior year fast approaching. He knew Sherlock had been working with a man named Greg Lestrade, a young trainee at Scotland Yard, working towards getting some credit in the police force regarding his talents as preparation for his detective work he talked so highly about – and John knew that Sherlock wanted the doctor to be with him._

_He saw that in Sherlock right then. He saw it in the nervous twitch of his fingers, the steeled gaze of those bright eyes, and the smile that tweaked onto his lips. Because every mask was simply another interpretation of yourself._

_John turned back to his envelope and quickly opened it with his fingers, tearing the letter out because no matter how long he waited to open it, the words would be the same any way. His eyes quickly scanned over the letter, searching for the answer he was looking for._

_“Well?” Sherlock said quietly, not bothering to snatch the letter from him, or clamber over and peek over his shoulder – but he simply asked John. Blue eyes lifted up to green – and the words on the page didn't seem to have a direct connection with the expression he ought to have on his face._

_“I got in. I leave the day after graduation.”_

 

The hum of the needle finally dies down, and John opens his eyes, looking over at Sherlock – he can't bear to look at the tattoo yet. He watches as his boyfriend silently places his needle down on the counter, fingers moving to pick up the excess ink and ointments, tossing them easily into a nearby trashcan.

Emerald eyes lift to his, and Sherlock smiles at him. “You're all done. Do you want to take a look at it before I bandage it up?”

John's lips twist into a great big smile at Sherlock's words – his whole arm feels numb now that the needle is no longer there, and his heart is starting to rush with a bit of adrenalin. His eyes drop down to his wrist, and he moves his arm slightly to get a look at the tattoo that Sherlock designed for him.

 

_It had happened after John had got that letter from the army. A few weeks later, when John was tired of making Sherlock feel so miserable; he abruptly brought up the subject._

_They had been sitting in John's room – seemed to be their favourite place to hang out since John's roommate was nearly always out – and Sherlock had been tracing random circles onto John's stomach, looking rather sullen and forlorn. John sat up rather suddenly, and turned on his boyfriend, a rather sharp frown on his features. “Okay, just say it! I know you're thinking, and you know I know, so just say it instead of leaving me feeling like a miserable little shite!”_

_Sherlock blinked owlishly at the blonde, before his lips turned into a frown as well. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, eyebrows crossed over his eyes. “John, I am not going to yell at you for something that you've been planning on doing for the past three years.”_

_The blonde threw his arms up into the air, hopping off the bed – needing to be a little further away from the gangling mess of limbs and angles. “But you don't want me to go! Why don't you just say that?” He turned on the man, fingers curled into fists. “You're just going to let me leave without a fight?”_

_“Yes.” Sherlock said simply, looked up at the blonde with a confused look on his face. “You want to go. Why should I stop you for my own selfish needs?”_

_“Because I love you!” John shouted back – the sound echoing around the room in the silence that followed._

_But for once, John saw surprise written as plain as day across Sherlock's face._

_“You... do?” Sherlock finally broke the silence, his voice soft and unsure, and his eyes looked up at John in confusion – as if he couldn't understand the notion. It tore John's heart to think that the tattooed lad finally had someone who loved him exactly for who he was – and the bloke couldn’t understand why someone would love him._

_John nodded his head, throat tightening up. He took in a deep breath. “I.... I thought....” His eyes darted away and he took in a deep breath, knowing that Sherlock was stuck frozen on his bed, and wasn't going to spring up and pull John into those out of proportion arms. “I thought you might try to argue with me... try to get me to stay here... because I thought you loved me too.”_

_He took in a deep breath and rubbed the palm of his hand against his eye – refused to cry, because god he's not a child anymore._

_And he was surprised when he felt arms wrapping around him and pulling him close against a cool chest that he knew as well as his own. Soft lips pressed against his forehead. “I was going to let you go,” Sherlock's voice was slow and deep in his ear as fingers tightened on the back of John's jumper, clutched at him and held him close. “Because I love you too much to hold you back from your dreams.”_

_They make love after that declaration – all soft touches and smiling gazes; tender kisses and whispers of 'I love you'. With their limbs folded together under the duvet, John found himself mouthing surprising words. “Will you give me a tattoo?”_

_Sherlock blinked at him, surprised. He had just gotten his license last month – but through all the time they had been together, no matter how much John had admired Sherlock's tattoos, he had never shown the slightest interest of wanting one himself._

_“Why?” Sherlock asked quietly as John's hand slipped into his own, both of their thumbs free as the two of them silently agreed to engage in a thumb war. “Because I want something to remind me of you.” The blonde replied just as quietly as his thumb evaded Sherlock's large and obtrusive one._

_There was a kiss to his forehead, and John’s thumb captured Sherlock's, erecting victory in his favour. “I can do that.” Sherlock whispered quietly before both of their lips pressed together – both of them knowing that John didn’t need a single thing to remind him of the man that changed his life._

 

It's a hedgehog. John hadn't known what he wanted for a tattoo, and left it up to Sherlock to decide. Looking at it now, Sherlock could have tattooed anything into his skin, and John would have admired the artistic talent all the same; but really, it was gorgeous. Black and white with all the detail of the quills – its face pointed towards John, the slightest of smiles just under its pointed nose.

When Sherlock had first shown John the design, he'd scoffed at it – a hedgehog? Really? He'd pouted when Sherlock explained his choice – saying that the hedgehog was the animal that reminded Sherlock of the blonde the most. It had taken a session of tickling John to the ground until he was breathless and gasping for air before the blonde could finally admit that the idea was cute.

Maybe John warmed to the idea with the fact that Sherlock tattooed his initials just under the hedgehog's paw.

John looks up at Sherlock and tilts his head slightly, watching as the raven-haired boy reaches for the bandages and starts to wrap up the freshly done tattoo. “Now, don't take the bandage off for four hours, and when you do remove it, wash it immediately. You'll want to use lukewarm water and mild, probably liquid antibacterial soap. I find that Satin and Proven are quite excellent, but don't use Dial because it's much too harsh on your skin.”

John keeps his remark in cheek, watching with a fond smile as Sherlock wraps the bandage over his new tattoo, explaining the aftercare of the tattoo – even though the bloke has gone over it dozens of times with John before. The blonde could probably say the whole spiel in his sleep now. But he lets Sherlock talk because he knows that it's helping the man keep calm.

“You'll want to wash it three times a day – and don't use anything abrasive or you'll have all my hard work ruined. Use your hand, and then pat it dry with a clean towel.” His fingers finish wrapping the bandages, and Sherlock takes out a black marker to doodle on the bandages while he keeps talking. “Once it's dry, put on a light application of the ointment I already put on your bedside table.” John chuckles quietly, and Sherlock's lips slip up into a slight smile.

“It will scab after three days – don't you dare pick it. It'll take somewhere between one and two weeks to heal, so you'll have that long to consciously remember to be careful.” Sherlock swallows hard. “Um,” He takes in a deep breath, and his fingers falter in his doodling. John glances down, watching as Sherlock draws out their initials under a heart.

Sentiment.

“Avoid getting sunburnt until it's completely healed. As much as possible avoid contaminating the area with anything like dust or oil paint. And you shouldn't swim for a week – but I don't think that's as much of a problem as the sunburn.”

Sherlock swallows hard, and John raises his eyes to see those soft olive eyes he loves swimming in tears. His heart breaks, and he opens his arms, allowing Sherlock to slide into that leather chair with him, straddling his waist and tugging John as close as he can – gripping him with all the force of a man determined to never let go.

“It's okay.” John says quietly, fingers sliding down his boyfriend's back, trying to comfort him. Graduation is in three days – and then John is gone. “It's okay Sherlock.” He presses his lips to Sherlock's forehead, and he hates the sob that he hears break from those lips.

His shirt gets damp, and every sniffle makes his heart ache that much more. “I love you, John Watson.” Sherlock whispers quietly, pressing soft kisses all up John's neck. “You're the only thing I've ever loved in my whole life.” He presses his lips hard against John's – all the sentiment that Sherlock dislikes showing, only proving that much more that Sherlock Holmes has truly given his heart away to another.

John kisses Sherlock back, fingers squeezing his boyfriend's. “Hey Sherlock?” He starts quietly, letting those sharp cheekbones turn up to him again. “I thought you said you were going to colour my hedgehog?”

His lips tweak slightly, trying to get a smile out of the opaque haired boy – and it's worth it when Sherlock smiles back at him. There's another kiss pressed to his lips, and then soft words are whispered in his ear. “Come back to me and I'll colour it for you.”

 

Nearly ten years pass before John Watson is shot in the shoulder, sustaining the injury that gets him invalided home from Afghanistan. He almost dies in that arid country, but his last look at the hedgehog sitting on his wrist before his eyes close shut in pain helps him push through the dark cloud that threatened to squeeze out his life force. John goes the therapy for the injury, but it doesn't really help.

Before John left, he and Sherlock decided that it would be too much strain to try and keep up a long-distance relationship; and he had lost the piece of paper with Sherlock's phone number and email to a fire during the first years of service. He wants to find Sherlock again, find him and tell him that he's home – but he's too busy trying to heal and find a place to live in order to do it. Houses are expensive, and flats are still pricey for someone living on an army pension. There's nowhere else he wants to live but in London, but the modern economy might prove to be too much for him.

And so it happens that John goes for a walk one day, trying to clear his head and ignore his problem for just a little while – imagining that he knew where Sherlock Holmes was and wondering what the bloke looks like after ten years. He's probably graduated – oh hell, he probably dropped out of Uni to just do his consulting full time. John wonders if the bloke still keeps his piercings in, wonders if he got any more tattoos, imagines relearning the surface of his body after so long apart.

"John? John Watson?"

He hears Mike Stamford's voice – a voice from the past that he hasn't heard since he left Bart's. He smiles grimly at the man – put on a lot of weight; but it’s not something he hadn’t expected from a man who loved to eat. Not that he wasn’t happy to see the man – he had just been hoping to be alone with his thoughts.

“I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?”

“I got shot.”

“Staying in town until you get yourself sorted?”

“I can’t afford London on an army pension.”

“I don’t know, get yourself a flat-share or something?”

"Who'd want me for a flatmate?"

"Funny. You're the second man to say that to me today."

"Who was the first?"

There's a funny sort of twinkle in Mike's eyes when John asks the question – a glimmer that reminds him of back in their old Uni days. “You'll see.”

Mysteriously aloof, Mike brought John around to Bart’s, where his old friend said that the man hung around in his free time – but whenever John asked a question about his potential flatmate, Mike would simply smile and ignore the question.

They head to the computer lab, and Mike opens the door for John. He glances around, taking up the new technology with a shake of his head. “Bit different from my day.”

“John?”

His heart nearly stops at the familiar sound of that baritone voice. John’s eyes flicker up to the long, lanky figure standing in front of one of the computers, turned towards the newcomers.

John drinks in the man like a parched man drinks in water. Curls are darker, falling over his forehead. His face is clear – gone are the silver piercings along his eyebrow, the stud in his nose, and the ring around his lip. His ears are bare too, and John gets a look at the skin that’s always been covered by the ear piercings.

He’s wearing a purple, button-up shirt that stretches across his chest – tight as sin. There’s his skull tattoo peaking out of the shirt, and John can see new tattoos on the white forearms revealed by pushed up sleeves.

“Sherlock.” John says quietly, his lips turning into the barest of smiles. It almost feels like a dream, seeing the bloke again. He watches as the tattooed teen – well, now a man – walks over to where John and Mike stand.

John looks up at Sherlock – he’s gotten taller. At least a few inches. But those bright jade eyes are still just as brilliant as he remembers.

Sherlock’s lips twist into a smile, and John watches as the bloke reaches into his pocket. Curious, he watches as the detective pulls out fifty quid from his wallet, and holds it out to Mike Stamford.

Smirking, his old friend takes the money, and John grins as Sherlock leans close and presses their lips close together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Currently, I do not know if I'm going to write more of this Universe - and I've learned from my mistakes of promising the Internet things. Really, really sorry for making you guys wait so long for this sequel! ~X


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